Signs of Damage

I am a head injury patient. I am. There is hardly another explanation. I sat in a meeting and shared about it and of course I was told to work the steps. Of course there is some truth in that, truth I sometimes ignore out of an objective bias against people who ‘work’ steps rather than ‘take’ them. One ‘takes’ steps on a journey. Just the same I did listen and there is truth in the idea that some of the symptoms of traumatic head injury are also the symptoms of pathological selfishness displayed by addicts and alcoholics.

I’m back at work at the Clown Palace and grateful to have a job after my dramatic exit a few weeks ago. I’m especially grateful because I really need the (pitiful) income to keep a roof over my head, food in the fridge and the liberty to remain as involved as I am in working (there’s that damn word) for my recovery. I had my schedule. I recalled that I was supposed to go to work on Wednesday at 6 or 8 o’clock. Knowing that with that schedule the only meeting I would be able to attend would be the noon, which I went to. At noon. When I was actually supposed to be at work. I didn’t even realize this until 4 o’clock when I checked to see if it was 6 or 8. Of course I went to the 5:30 and ran into my boss who blessedly told me not to worry about it. I made sure I was there on time the rest of the week. I have checked and I have verified that I work tomorrow at 2 o’clock. I think. Yes. 2 o’clock. Very well then.

In addition to not remembering times and schedules I have had particular trouble with numbers, adding and subtracting, and especially if that includes fractions. I’ve ruined, well damaged, really, three meals in the last two weeks by not being able to add fractions correctly. I know how to add fractions, for crying out loud. So lately I’ve been struggling with anything related to dealing with numbers.

Historically I’ve had more trouble with names, both proper and common. I never remember actors names, even the ones I like. I have names in my cell phone for people I don’t remember. I don’t recall ever having met a Susan in my life and yet her name is in my phone. I have often forgotten what “that stuff” with “those things” are really called. “What?” and “where?” are the kind of stupid questions I would ask more often if I had not learned to wait a beat and allow the understanding to percolate to the surface.

I was pleased to learn that this phenomena is scientifically documented by much smarter people than me. It is encouraging to learn that in two more years the healing that can take place likely will have taken place. And I believe it is taking place, in spite of the symptomology I’m experiencing. I believe it’s taking place because last night, for the first time in probably 5 years, I suddenly remembered the name of the man I lost my virginity to. (There’s another stupid word. ‘Lost’. I didn’t lose it. I threw it away. I turned my back on it and pretended I didn’t know what it was.)

I’m taking that as a sign from God. Now that I have a point of origin I can start my sex inventory.

Photo Credit: Texaco signs, originally uploaded by naterade81.